


Heavy Heart

by oddgit



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: And Lots of It, Angst, Finch whump, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Medical Procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-03 23:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12156906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddgit/pseuds/oddgit
Summary: The sight of Harold falling helplessly to the ground, bloody and with an audible thump made John sick to his stomach.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo here's some FinchWhump!  
> This is inspired by a fic I read a long time ago on Fanfiction.net called "The Dynamics of Risk" by BullDemon  
> Special thanks to M_E_Lover for all the beta work and encouragement! I also wrote this at the perfect time because it helped her to get distracted from the fact that Hurricane Irma was barreling toward her! Lol

John’s heart sank to his stomach.

The sight of Harold falling helplessly to the ground, bloody and with an audible thump made him sick to his stomach.

He ran over to him, putting a bullet in one of the perpetrator’s heads as he went.

“Finch!” He fell to his knees, his voice threatening to break. The sounds of Shaw and Root taking out the rest of the culprits fading from his hearing. The only thing he was focused on was Harold.

“Ohhh… that hurt…” Harold groaned, his eyes blown wide open. He looked straight up at the ceiling, his eyes watery with pain.

“That was incredibly stupid of you, Harold…” John replied, talking about Harold jumping in front of John, pushing him out of the way of the high caliber bullet. He opened Harold’s suit jacket to see a large bullet hole in his partner’s chest. Blood was seeping from it steadily.

John put pressure on the wound, eliciting a small, pained groan from Harold.

“I… I clearly… didn’t think… that one… through…” Harold chuckled a bit, looking up at his partner who had deep worry lines under his eyes and mouth screwed tightly into a frown. He wanted to tell John not to worry so much. That he would be fine. But he was getting so sleepy.

“Clearly…” John shot back, worry evident in his voice. The shooting stopped and John yelled, “Shaw! Harold’s been hit!”

Shaw and Root ran over. Shaw went to her knees next to John and Harold.

Root just stood there… staring at the horrible sight in front of her in shock.

“He pushed me out of the way…” John replied after receiving a confused look from Shaw.

“What the hell did you do that for, Finch?” Shaw scolded, packing Harold’s wound tightly with some gauze that she luckily had in her pocket.

“Mister… Reese… does it… all the time…” He protested weakly, his eyes sliding shut.

Shaw pressed her knuckles hard against his sternum, “Gotta stay awake for me, Finch.”

Harold groaned, “Tired…”

“Tough Finch, you need to stay awake.” Shaw looked at Harold and put her hand to his neck to feel his pulse. Weak and thready. She looked over to Root and John, “We need to move him. Now.” She turned her attention back to John, “Can you carry him?” 

“Yeah…” he replied and bent down to pick Harold up. He lifted him up, eliciting a weak groan of protest from the smaller man. “I’m sorry…” John whispered, shifting his hold on Harold to accommodate his injuries as he held him firmly in his arms.

They all hurried out of the warehouse and to the car. Root jumped in the driver’s seat and Shaw and John got in the back with Harold.

Harold was laying halfway in John’s lap with his legs hanging off the seat.

“John… my chest hurts…” Harold gasped, his breath coming short.

“That’s good…” John tried his best at a smile. “Once it doesn’t hurt anymore… then that’s bad…”

Harold smiled a bit, “That’s… encouraging…” Harold started to cough, which resulted in a fair amount of blood splashing onto his shirt and trickling down his chin. “I’m… assuming that would be… bad…” Harold looked up at John, his brows raised.

John’s eyes were fixed on Shaw.

“The bullet might have nicked your lung… are you having trouble breathing?” Shaw asked, putting her ear to Harold’s chest.

“Yes…” Harold admitted. “Feels… like…” He coughed up more blood, “Needles…” His breath was coming in short, clipped wheezes now.

“Root, how much longer?” Shaw asked.

“Five… Maybe ten minutes…” Root answered back, swerving in and out of traffic.

“Make it five…” Shaw replied, pushing her knuckles against Harold’s chest, seeing he was drifting off again. “Stay with us, Finch…”

John noticed the worry in Shaw’s usual stoic expression and squeezed Harold’s hand that he was holding onto for dear life, “You’re going to be fine…” he whispered encouragingly into the injured man’s ear. “Just please stay awake…”

#

When they got Harold into the safehouse, John stayed with him while Root and Shaw ran around, getting all the supplies they needed.

“Megan’s on her way but traffic is horrible…” Root remarked as she pulled an IV bag out of a cabinet.

Harold had used the last of his energy during the difficult transfer from the car to the house and he hadn’t made a sound since.

Shaw began to connect Harold to the room’s monitoring system. His heart rate was too fast and his oxygen level and blood pressure were too low.

Along with the clamminess and paleness of his skin, John knew he was going into hypovolemic shock.

His body had lost too much blood and was shutting itself down to preserve life for as long as it could.

“He needs blood…” Shaw said to herself, “Does he keep blood here?” She turned her attention to John.

“Cooler… second room to the left…” John croaked out. He didn’t take his attention off his partner.  

“What’s his…”

“A positive,” John replied before she could even finish the sentence.

Root left the room to go get it without Shaw even telling her to.

Shaw went over to Harold and started to unbutton his shirt, quickly but carefully as not to hurt him.

Shaw tried to start an IV in his arm; she cursed softly under her breath when she couldn’t find a usable vein. She gave up hope on an arm placement and moved straight to Harold’s neck.

Root came back in with the blood, “Leave it to Harold to have a fully stocked hospital as a safe house,” she chuckled.

“Warm it and mix it. Knead it with your hands,” Shaw replied.

Shaw turned her bosses head to the side, cleaned the area with an alcohol swab and stuck a needle into his jugular vein.

John cringed at the sight. He knew Harold didn’t feel it… but it still bothered him.

“You couldn’t find a vein in his arm?” John asked, needing to say something because the silence in the room was threatening to strangle him.

“No. His veins are collapsed. That blood ready?” Shaw asked absently as she taped down the catheter inserted in Harold’s neck.

“I think so…” Root answered, handing the bag over to the smaller woman.

Shaw grabbed it and hung the bag of dark red liquid onto the IV stand. Once she had it hooked up to Harold’s IV and started the transfusion, she moved over to Harold’s head.

“I’m going to have to intubate him,” she started.

“Why?” John asked, agitated by Sameen’s lack of explanation.

“We have to sedate him for the surgery and he can’t handle sedation on his own. Breathing wise. He’s barely hanging on right now; his oxygen levels are too low.” She tilted Harold’s head back, grabbed the metal blade-like tool from a tray of instruments and opened Harold’s mouth.

“Put pressure right here…” She pointed to the area that Root would need to apply cricoid pressure on his throat.

Shaw guided the blade down Harold’s throat, “Hand me the tube.”

John quickly grabbed the plastic tubing off the tray and handed it to Shaw. “So… he’s going to be on a vent?” the ex-op asked.

“Yes,” Shaw answered quietly, sliding the tube down the hacker’s windpipe and connecting it to all of the ventilator wires and tubing.

John ran his hand through his hair and let out a breath. Just now realizing that Harold was seriously in trouble. Maybe he wouldn’t be okay…

“Okay…” Shaw started, listening to Harold’s breathing with a stethoscope. “Sounds about as good as we’re going to get.”

John looked to Shaw, “Is he…”

“He’s in bad shape John,” she went over to the sink to scrub her hands. “His blood pressure is too low. His oxygen levels are going up, but that’s only because he’s on the vent. The bullet probably perforated a lung, we don’t know what damage it could have done to his heart. He’s spent a lot of time in shock, which can cause damage to other organs.”

John let out a breath and looked to the lifeless, intubated man lying on the table. He ran his hand over his face. “What was he thinking…”

“Look, Harold is a tough little son of a gun.” Shaw slipped latex gloves over her hands and moved over beside John. She grabbed a vial of medication out of a cupboard and measured an amount into a syringe. “He really just… pushed you out of the way?”

“Yes…” John replied. “I should have seen the guy… He came up from behind…”

“Hey. This is not your fault.” Shaw injected the drug through the IV line in Harold’s neck and almost immediately John noticed that Harold’s body seemed to almost… relax.

“That should keep him out for now…” Shaw said. She turned to the ex-op, “He’s going to be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”

Just then, Megan came in through the door, “What happened?” her eyes went wide at the sight.

“GSW to the chest. He was spitting up blood and had trouble breathing. The bullet’s still in there.”

Megan went over to the sink and started to scrub her hands, “We need to get it out, now.”

“Root, scrub up. We’re going to need an extra set of hands.” Shaw started to scrub over Harold’s chest with iodine.

“John, sit at his head. Scrub up thoroughly just in case we end up needing you.” Megan had gloved up and was draping sterilized paper over Harold’s chest.

John did what he does best and followed orders.

After washing his hands and putting gloves on, he slid a mask over his face and went over to sit on a stool by his partner’s head.

The three women were all ready and stood over Harold. “Ready?” Megan asked, a scalpel in her hand.

Root and Shaw nodded their heads.

Megan pressed the scalpel to Harold’s chest, “Here we go then.”


	2. Chapter 2

Except for the sounds of the hissing of oxygen and the occasional clink of medical instruments or a request for certain tools, the room was rather quiet.

John was almost in a trance as he watched the doctors work and kept his eyes on his partner.

A sudden monotone sound emitted from one of the monitors and woke him from his daze; he looked over at the doctor anxiously.

“His BP is dropping…” Megan quickly tied off a stitch and grabbed a syringe from one of the trays.

“I’m giving him Norepinephrine,” she said absently as she pushed the contents of the syringe through the IV. “Hopefully it’ll give his heart a boost and raise his pressure…”

Once she was satisfied with the numbers on the screen, she returned to her previous position.

Shaw noticed John’s worried look as he gazed down at Harold, his hands sitting on either side of his partner’s head. His hands occasionally moving up to run his fingers through Harold’s sweat dampened hair.

The touch was gentle… caring.

She smiled behind her surgical mask and moved her attention back to the task at hand.

Megan couldn’t believe how lucky Harold had been. The bullet had torn through his right lung and was sitting right next to his aorta. It had shattered his breastbone on entry, sending a cluster of tiny bone fragments shooting off in different directions, causing active bleeding all over the place.

She removed the bullet slowly and carefully. Dropping it with an audible clank in a metal bowl Shaw was holding.

She continued working, instructing Shaw to stitch off one of the active bleeders sitting beside Harold’s heart.

“He’s lucky,” Megan started. “An inch to the left and he would have bled out in minutes.” She tied off another stitch. She had never put in so many internal stitches. She lost count at fifty. The amount of damage that not only the bullet but the tiny bone fragments had left behind was grueling.

It would have been a horrible and painful death if he’d been alone. Basically, drowning in his own blood.

John’s heart skipped a beat; he squeezed Harold’s shoulder a little tighter, reassuring himself that he was still there.

He was still alive.

“I think we’re done…” Megan said, looking over her work one more time. She systematically looked around inside his chest one more time, checking for any bleeders that she may have missed.

She looked up at Shaw, “Is there a room where we can take him to recover?”

“Yeah.” Shaw snapped off her gloves. “We’ll go get it ready while you close him up.” Shaw and Root washed their hands again and headed out of the room.

Megan started to close Harold’s incision, stapling the skin back together. She looked to John who hadn’t taken his eyes off his partner’s pale face.

“He’s made it this far, John,” she started. “Which is a lot more than I thought I’d be saying when I got here.”

John looked up at her and smiled a little bit, “Thanks, Megan.”

“No problem,” she smiled back and finished up. “Let’s get him into his room, shall we? Think you can help with that?”

“Yeah,” John replied softly and stood up.

#

The move to the other room was difficult. When they tried to move Harold to the bed, the stress of the situation caused his vitals to spike and they had to stop the transfer when he started fighting against the breathing tube.

After Megan had sedated him and given him a dose of pain medication and a short break, they got him into the bed and resting.

“How long will he have to be on the ventilator?” John asked, sitting down next to his partner’s bed.

“Until his lungs heal and he’s strong enough to breathe on his own.” Megan injected a syringe into the IV line. “I’ve seen people come off it in a couple days… other times… a week or two.”

John’s eyes fell closed and he let out a breath.

“Look John… I know you want him to be okay but he’s not going to recover from this overnight. He lost almost half of his blood volume. I’m double dosing him with antibiotics but the risk of infection in something dire like this is still possible.

“There’s a chance that the internal stitches could cause problems as well if they don’t dissolve properly on their own. He could develop another bleed or he could form a clot. He made it through the surgery and that’s great. It’s clear he’s a fighter. But there’s still a long, difficult road ahead.”

John’s expression fell. It wasn’t surprising that Harold would have a long road to recovery ahead of him… and it was a depressing reality.

Shaw silently put her hand on John’s shoulder. An unusual sign of empathy from the hardened women. “Do you need anything?”

“No… I’m fine. Thanks,” he whispered.

Root and Shaw left to go out into the kitchen to make food for everyone.

Megan checked Harold’s breathing again. She wrote a few things down on the clipboard that they had started for charting Harold’s progression.

She set the clipboard down and went over and sat down beside the ex-op, “I didn’t mean to discourage you, John…”

“No… it’s okay. I understand.” He shifted in his chair. “It’s just that it shouldn’t have happened to him.”

Megan nodded sadly, “John, I’ve seen people overcome worse and succumb to much less. But like I said, Harold’s a fighter. So, don’t count him out yet.” She put her hand on his knee, a comforting gesture.

“Thanks,” he replied, sitting forward in the chair and taking his partner’s pale, still hand in both of his own… trying to will his own strength into the cold appendage. “It’s like you said… Harold is a fighter and he’s going to come out of this fine.”


	3. Chapter 3

John picked at the box of Chinese food that Shaw brought in earlier that morning.

“They never put enough soy sauce in this…” John said as he set the box of Kung Pao on the table beside his chair.

He looked at his partner in the bed. Harold couldn’t hear him of course. He was still sedated. He was getting better, albeit slowly.

All his vitals were stronger, his heartbeat was no longer disrupted by arrhythmic episodes, the jugular vein IV had been removed and replaced with an arm placement and the ventilator tube had been removed last night.

 _This is huge._ Megan had said when she removed the tube and swapped it for a nasal cannula. _But there’s still a possibility for him to go downhill._

At the moment, John was just happy to be alone with his partner. Shaw and Root had gone to get Bear from Fusco’s. Megan was in the next room taking a nap after she had stayed up all night monitoring Harold, making sure taking him off the vent didn’t cause any major problems.

John sat up in his chair and fixed Harold’s shirt. It was bunched up at his stomach. “Better,” John smiled.

He smoothed out the blanket underneath Harold’s hand. He looked at his partner, ran his hand through the small man’s hair, “You’re gonna be so pissed when you wake up. Your hair’s a mess,” John chuckled.

“Don’t like the Kung Pao?” Megan asked, surprising John, and coming in with a stethoscope in her hands.

John turned and looked at her and smiled, “No… just not very hungry.”

“Oh. I’m not a big fan of Chinese food myself.” She went over to the sink and washed her hands. “More of an Italian person.”

John smiled in acknowledgment. Understanding what she was trying to do.

She picked up the clipboard that they were using to record Harold’s vitals and looked it over. “He’s looking good,” she said as she set the clipboard down. “We may be able to wake him up tonight.”

John sat up in his chair, not able to hide the excitement from his face. “Really?”

Megan set out some of the supplies she needed to change the bandage on Harold’s chest. “Yup. If everything goes well today. And I like what I see on his tests then we can wake him up.”

John smiled and for the first time in a week, he got his hopes up.

He watched as Megan removed the bloody and saturated bandage from his partner’s chest. She cleaned the area, careful of the chest tubes.

She put a piece of gauze over the foot-long incision and placed a bandage over it. She smoothed down the edges and moved over to check on the chest tubes.

“These are draining a little bit more than usual, but I’ll just keep an eye on it. It’s nothing to worry about right now.” She checked his vitals and wrote a few things down onto the clipboard.

John just nodded and kept watching Megan do her checks. It almost calmed him in a way. She moved with precision, quick and gentle. She made it look easy.

“I’ll do an EKG and Echo and if those are good, then I’ll start to ease him off sedation,” she smiled and went over to get the EKG machine. “So… exactly how much money does he have? He basically has his own private hospital here…”

John just chuckled, “I don’t know. I’ve never asked because I probably wouldn’t believe him if he told me.”

#

Harold woke up to an annoying feeling of warm air blowing into his nose. It almost tickled.

He tried to raise his arm to move whatever it was out of his nose, but he quickly thought better of it when pain exploded in his chest and sent sharp bolts shooting across his torso.

He was unable to stifle the gasp of pain that escaped his mouth and tensed when he heard the sound of a chair scraping across the floor and then footsteps.

“Harold?”

_John._

Immediately recognizing his partner’s voice, he relaxed a fraction. He tried to open his eyes, but the lights were too bright and he immediately squeezed them shut.

He heard a sudden _click_ , “Try again…” John said softly.

This time Harold cracked his eyes open and managed to keep them open, squinting.

“Hey…” John smiled from ear to ear, his expression was one that Harold hadn’t seen before. “You scared us…”

Harold tried to talk, but his voice just wouldn’t cooperate. All that came out was a gravelly gasp.

“Here…” John held up a cup of water with a straw, “You were on a ventilator for about a week.” He held the straw to his partner’s mouth. “Only a little… You don’t want to get sick.”

Harold took a few sips, the cool liquid coating his sore inflamed throat. “Thank you,” he rasped.

“You’re welcome.” After a few moments of silence; Harold clearly trying to figure out where he was and what had happened, John spoke up. “I’m going to go get Megan and Shaw… Let them know you’re awake.”

Harold just laid there, looking at the door. His mind was a jumbled mess. He looked down at his arm and found the source of the drowsiness and confused state he was in.

 _They must be using the good stuff…_ he thought to himself.

“Welcome back, Harold.” Megan came in through the door with John, Shaw, and Root in tow. “How are you feeling?” she asked, looking at the screen to check his vitals.

“Well… in all honesty… I feel like I’ve been kicked in the chest by a horse,” he answered truthfully. “I’m rather… confused as well.”

“That’s normal. You were shot in the chest six days ago… When I got here, lucky for you Sameen knew what she was doing and managed to get you somewhat stabilized.”

It came back to Harold in flashes as Megan spoke. The warehouse. A shootout. Jumping in front of John, pushing him out of the way. A fiery pain in his chest. Blood soaking his shirt. The back of a car. Then nothing.

“The bullet shattered your sternum on entry. It sent a cluster of bone fragments every which way and did quite a lot of damage. Your sternum is held together with wire right now until it heals. The bullet itself tore through your lung and broke two ribs. You’re a very lucky man, Harold…”

Harold tried to pay attention to what she was saying. He knew it was incredibly rude for him to tune her out like this. But paying attention required energy and that was something he didn’t have much of right now.

Megan noticed that Harold was dozing and she stopped herself, “Okay Harold, we’ll let you get some rest. How’s your pain? A scale of one to ten.”

Harold cringed at the memories that question brought up from long months of recovering after the ferry accident, after a moment of thought he replied. “Eight.”

John frowned and scooted his chair closer to his partner.

“Okay. You’re not due for your next round of pain medication for another hour but I’m going to give it to you now.” She went over to the counter and selected a vial of medication, drawing some of it into a syringe. “This should help with that and help you get some sleep too.”

Harold watched as she injected the syringe into one of his IV lines and a short moment later, felt the tug on his consciousness.

“Sleep, Harold…” John’s hand was on his shoulder, his touch was as light as a feather, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Harold smiled at the taller man in the chair. He wanted to tell him something. Wanted to talk to him. Reassure him that he was okay. But bone weary and tired, he succumbed to the pull of darkness, closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.

“Think he’s going to be okay?” John asked Megan.

“We’ll get him back on his feet… It’s just going to take a while,” Megan replied.

#

“Do you need anything?” John asked when Harold woke up the next morning, running his fingers through Harold’s hair.

“No…” He tried to sit up a little but the screaming pain in his chest made him give up with an audible groan.

“Here…” John quickly got up and pushed the button on the side of the bed to lift the top of the bed up. “Tell me when to stop.”

After Harold was sitting up in a position where he was somewhat comfortable, he signaled for John to stop.

John sat back down in a chair and stuck his arm through the bed railing to hold his partner’s hand.

“Thank you,” Harold swallowed and closed his eyes.

“You’re welcome…” John lifted his hand up and pushed the matted hair back from Harold’s forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“Not too terrible. Given the circumstances.” He opened his eyes and smiled at his partner. “I suppose this is where you say how absurd it was for me to jump in front of you.”

John was quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he smiled and stood up, hovering over his partner, “No. This is where I thank you for saving my life… again.” He pressed a soft kiss to Harold’s forehead. “Although, if you ever do it again… I’ll shoot you myself.”

Harold chuckled, wincing in pain, and holding his chest quickly after.

“Sorry…” John whispered.

Harold just waved him off. The pain subsiding some with each slow, deep breath he took. Well, each deep breath he _tried_ to take. Each time he took a deep, long breath, it felt like he was being stabbed in the chest.

“Morning Finch,” Shaw said, walking through the door. “Megan took the night shift so you’re stuck with me this morning.”

Harold smiled as best he could, “Hello Miss Shaw.”

She set a spirometer onto the table that slid out from the side of Harold’s bed. “You’re not going to like this,” she warned.

“Miss Shaw…” Harold cringed, knowing what that was from his experience after the ferry bombing.

“He just woke up yesterday…” John started, knowing that his partner was having a hard time taking deep breaths, let alone doing breathing exercises.

“Yes, and we need to see where your lung function is at. Just a few times. Nothing major. If it gets too bad, we’ll stop.” She picked up the breathing device and held it out to Harold. “Put this part in your mouth and…”

“I know how to use it…” Harold groaned and took it from her. He put the mouthpiece in and held the plastic machine in his hand.

Taking a breath in and then letting it out, the small blue disc barely moved off the bottom of the scale.

“Try again for me,” Shaw said.

Trying one more time, Harold had pretty much the same results, only the blue disc moved a little bit more.

He set the machine down and his head fell back to his pillow. Clearly exhausted, his chest was heaving as he tried to get more air into his lungs. “I… can’t…” he gasped between breaths.

The monitor beside his bed screamed in alarm, alerting them of his too fast heart rate.

Shaw grabbed an oxygen mask and after she removed the nasal cannula, set the clear mask over Harold’s mouth and nose. “Relax…” she soothed, her hand on his shoulder.

John found himself holding onto Harold’s hand, almost like he was trying to will his strength into him.

After a few quiet moments, Harold seemed to have calmed down some and had almost relaxed into a level of sleep.

Shaw removed the oxygen mask and replaced it with the small cannula. She took a syringe off the counter and injected it into the catheter just underneath Harold’s collarbone.

Then she turned to John, “That will probably keep him out for a while. I’ll be back later with his lunch. We’ll try this again later tonight.” She grabbed the spirometer off the table and headed out into the kitchen.

John rested his chin on the bed railing, watching the rise and fall of his partner’s chest. He was still grasping the smaller man’s hand.

He ran his thumb side to side over Harold’s palm. Trying to project and ease just a little comfort into the man.

Once John knew Harold was fully asleep, he stood up and pressed a kiss to the unconscious man’s lips, ran his hand through his hair, "I love you..." he whispered into the sleeping man's ear. "I know it's going to be a hard recovery... but if anyone can do it... it's you." 


	4. Chapter 4

Almost a week had passed before they started to ease Harold off the pain medication and he was able to start staying awake for longer.

He was getting up and walking to the door and back two or three times a day. The first time was the night after he woke up. Megan helped him stand, a pillow pressed tightly to his chest so that it would support his sternum and lessen the pain a little.

He made it there, albeit slowly. Now he made the journey without any help, only holding onto his IV stand for support.

He was still yet to be freed from the strict confines of a catheter. Something he made his friends hear about every day.

The chest tubes had been removed. The central line in his chest had also been removed and the only IV that remained was in his arm.

He still had great pain in his chest, but it was lessening by the day.

“Can you bring me my laptop?” Harold whispered one night, not able to sleep.

John was dozing in the chair, “Go to sleep, Harold,” he groaned.

“Fine. I guess I’ll just have to get up and go get it myself…” He peeked over to his partner, his brows raised.

John rolled his eyes and stood up, making his way out to get Harold’s laptop.  

Harold smiled and pushed the button on the side of his bed to sit up. He was getting restless. The pain should be going away by now. He should be getting better. But he wasn’t.

John and the others had told him to be patient. It had only been a little over a week. His sternum was held together with wire. It was going to take a while. 

He wasn’t a doctor but he was still fairly certain he should be able to sit up for more than barely an hour without his chest screaming at him to lie back down.

And then there was the no sleeping.

“Only an hour.” John came back into the room and set the laptop down on Harold’s bedside table.

Harold smiled in thanks and opened up the dark grey computer, “I need to check on a few things. Shouldn’t take too long.”

John just sat back down in his recliner and closed his eyes.

After Harold had finished what he needed to do and surfed around on the internet for a while, he closed the laptop and laid back in bed.

After a few pointless minutes of trying to sleep… he gave up and cleared his throat. He looked over to his partner, “John…” he whispered, “Are you asleep?”

“Not now…” John groaned and sat up, “What is it?”

“I’m in the mood for a game of chess,” Harold replied a little cheerily.

John stood up and put the bed railing down. He sat down on the side of the injured man’s bed, “What’s going on Harold? You haven’t slept more than a few hours ever since they started easing back on the painkillers. Are you in pain? We can have them put you on something a little heavier.” John ran his hand through Harold’s hair.

“John, I’m fine. I’ve been sleeping for the past week. I’m just not very tired,” he smiled at the younger man.

“Harold…”

“John, I’m perfectly fine. Really…” he grabbed John’s hand and squeezed, “Now, what do you say about that game of chess?”

John just sighed, “Fine… but this conversation is not over.”

#

Megan came in the next morning to find a chess board on the bed’s pull-out table and Harold asleep in his bed. John was passed out in the chair beside him.

Megan nudged Harold on the shoulder, “Breakfast,” she smiled.

Harold groaned and closed his eyes again. After Megan went over and turned the lights on, he cracked his eyes open.

John started to stir and cleared his throat. He sat up in his chair and looked at his partner and the doctor, “I need coffee…” he groaned and headed out to the kitchen.   

Megan pulled out the bed’s table and sat down Harold’s plate of food. A healthy serving of oatmeal and fruit. Along with a glass of orange juice.

The doctor pushed the button on his bed to sit him up and pulled the table in front of him. “How’d you sleep, Harold?” she asked, checking his vitals on the monitor.

“Alright,” he murmured, picking through his oatmeal. “Is there any chance I could get a proper meal?”

Megan chuckled, “Heart-healthy for the next couple weeks, Harold. Sorry.” She put her stethoscope buds into her ears, “Deep breath for me,” she started as she pulled up his grey t-shirt.

Harold did as he was told, flinching a bit at the coldness of the metal circle on his skin.

“And again…” This time as Harold took in a deep breath, a sharp pain shot through his chest. He couldn’t stifle the gasp that snuck out. “Did that hurt?” Megan asked, slipping her stethoscope back around her neck.

“No… just cold on my back,” he sighed and relaxed back into the bed.

“Okay…” Megan replied skeptically. “Eat, we’ve got a big day ahead of us. We’re going to get you up and walking around and maybe even take that catheter out that you’ve been enjoying so much.”

Harold’s shoulders slumped and he let out an audible sigh, “Thank you.”

Megan laughed, “No problem. I’ll be back later to get you up.” She turned around and walked out into the hallway.

When she made it to the kitchen, John stopped her by the table. “He’s not sleeping,” he started. “I think something’s wrong.”

Megan’s brow furrowed, “Well, he is going to be in pain for a while yet and we did just cut back on the meds.”

“No. He’s not telling us something. He’s not usually like this.” John frowned and went over to get the coffee out of the carafe after it signaled it was finished brewing.

“John, he’s been through a major trauma. He almost died, it’s going to take a while before he’s back to normal. Just give it time…” She knew he wasn’t satisfied so she continued, “I’ll run a full work up tonight after his walk. See if there’s anything going on. Okay?”

John took a sigh of relief, “Okay. Thank you,” he smiled and headed back into Harold’s room.


	5. Chapter 5

Days later, John woke up to the sound of Bear greeting Shaw and Root at the front door. A few barks escaped before Shaw got him to quiet down.

He looked to his partner snoozing in their bed. They removed the catheter about a week ago and Harold had been able to walk to the bathroom by himself for the first time.

John met him on the outside of the bathroom with a round of applause.

Something that received a death glare from Harold, he was embarrassed by the attention.

“I didn’t realize how much one could miss the simple act of relieving yourself without a tube being shoved into your… privates,” he said irritably.

The tests that Megan had ran didn’t indicate that anything was wrong. He was still having pain, but it wasn’t getting worse or anything that would cause red flags. She did want to take him to a hospital to take an MRI, but he refused.

Saying that their current situation couldn’t be compromised with a trip to the hospital and he felt fine.

He had been freed of the IV and heart monitor four days ago. Megan finally allowed him to sleep in a normal bed, with John, for the first time last night. John was hesitant at first; he didn't want to roll over and hurt Harold in his sleep. But once Harold nudged himself closer to his partner in the middle of the night, John couldn't resist wrapping his arms around the smaller man and never letting go. 

John got up and went out into the kitchen, pressing a soft kiss to Harold’s forehead.

When he got into the kitchen, he was met by Bear who was pushing his snout into John’s hand for attention. “Hey Bear,” he chuckled and rubbed the dog between the ears.

“How’d it go? He make it the through the whole night?” Shaw asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“He got up a few times to go to the bathroom, but he slept most of the night,” John replied.

“That’s good. It usually takes a while after any chest surgery for people to be able to sleep lying flat again.”

John poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. “At least he’s sleeping better now,” John said absently as he sipped the strong brew.

“I told you, he just needed time.” Megan came in through the door. “He’s recovering well. You guys should be able to go home soon. He’s beyond needing around the clock care anymore.”

John almost spit out his coffee and smiled, “Really?” 

“Of course. No running marathons or climbing mountains for a while. But I think he’s well enough to go home and sleep in his own bed. Get back to work… Well, limited, low-stress work of course.”

The thought of Harold getting back to work, back behind a computer that is, because John was not letting him out of the subway for a while, was almost strange to John. Harold had been sick for so long now... he would have to get used to him being better again

Shaw let out a laugh and brought John out of his thoughts, “Have you forgotten what we do for a living?”

Their conversation was interrupted when they heard the bedroom door open and the uneven footsteps of bare feet coming down the hallway.

Harold emerged into the kitchen, walked over to the table, and sank down almost painfully into a chair. A day’s growth of stubble on his face and dark circles under his eyes and pale complexion made his ruffled appearance look worse for wear.

“Are you all right?” John asked, his brows furrowed. He was shocked at how rough Harold looked. 

“Just tired,” Harold rasped and cleared his throat.

“Didn’t sleep well?” Megan asked, concern mounting for her patient.

“I thought I did until I woke up.” Shaw set down a plate of food in front of him. Eggs and toast. Normally he had been jumping at the chance to eat normal food since some of the restrictions were lifted, but today he felt sick. “No thank you.” He pushed the plate away from him.

“Come on Finch, maybe a good meal is just what you need,” Shaw started and pushed the plate back in front of him.

Harold stood up gingerly, “I’m going out on the porch,” he said and made his way out of the sliding glass door.

John looked at Megan and Shaw, “He’s sure not himself this morning…”

“It was the first night back sleeping in a normal bed. He may not have gotten enough sleep.” Megan walked over and sat down at the table with her breakfast, “Don’t worry until we have to, John.”

John sighed and stood up to go join his partner out on the front deck.

Harold was sitting in one of the large wooden rocking chairs, leaning back with his head resting on the back of it and his eyes closed.

John sat down next to him, “Nice morning.”

Harold just gave him a fleeting smile while his eyes remained closed.

“What’s going on, Harold?” John asked.

“I’m just tired, John.” Harold opened his eyes and looked at John sideways, “I’m fine. Just a little sore today,” he finally admitted.

“Is it bad?” John asked, concern starting to take over his voice.

“Along with no sleep, I’m in no mood today to be put through any number of poking and prodding tests,” he groaned, his hand sliding up to his chest and rubbing at the spot where his incision was. 

John turned his attention to the front lawn. The safehouse was out in the suburbs, far away from the city. Bear loved it, and John was starting to grow fond of it too. 

After the two men sat in companioned silence for a few moments, the door slid open to reveal Megan, “Everything okay out here?”

John waited for Harold to answer, but when he remained quiet he answered for him. “Harold’s a little sore today.”

“Is it sharp or an ache?” Megan asked. Her concern from earlier showing again.

“Just an ache… I think I slept wrong or something.”

“That would do it,” Megan replied. “I can give you something if you’d like.”

“No, no more drugs,” Harold started. “It’s not that bad…”

“Just let me know if you change your mind.” Now that she knew Harold was sore and not just being stubborn, she was letting him off easy. “You should go try to get some sleep.”

Lacking the energy to argue anymore, he warily stood up with a slight grimace and headed back inside.

“Do you think he’s all right?” John asked once he was sure Harold was back inside.

“Well… if he really did just sleep wrong, that could very well be the culprit. His sternum still won’t heal completely for a few weeks. Same with his broken ribs. I just wish he would have let me take him in last week to get an MRI. That way we could have caught anything before it got worse.” She walked towards the door, “More than likely he’ll be better after he gets a few hours of sleep, don’t worry.”

John smirked, “All right.”

#

John came back from an afternoon errand run that same day. The kitchen and living room were empty.

“Harold? Megan?” he called out into the house. After no one replied, he headed to the back of the house and toward he and Harold’s room.

He saw a light underneath the door of the recovery room that Harold had stayed in right after his surgery.

He cracked open the door and peaked his head in. “Everything okay?” he gulped. The sight of Harold lying unconscious in the hospital bed, pale and sweaty was not encouraging.

“He developed a fever about twenty minutes after you left,” Megan explained quietly as she wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Harold’s arm. “I started him on a strong antibiotic and a fever reducer. It should make him more comfortable and help him sleep too.”

“What’s causing the fever?” John asked quietly.

“It’s possible it’s just fatigue… but I’m not taking any chances. With his nonexistent appetite, the pain, and fever… I’m starting to think it’s an infection somewhere. I dosed him with a broad spectrum antibiotic to try to knock down anything before it gets way out of hand.”

John stayed silent as he watched the doctor take his partner’s blood pressure and listened to his breathing.

“His vitals are all elevated, but that’s normal with the fever he has.” She wrapped the stethoscope back around her neck, “I’m going to keep hitting him hard with antibiotics and hope they knock this thing out.”

“Thank you…,” John whispered as he moved over and quietly sat down in the chair beside Harold’s bed, “For being here.”

“After what the two of you did for me… I’m here for the long run.” She fit the nasal cannula back over Harold’s face and into his nostrils, “I’m going to go update Sameen. She and Root went to take Bear for his walk.”

Megan left the room and John let out a breath, “Never make anything easy, do you?” he chuckled and sat up in his chair to hold onto his partner’s hand.


	6. Chapter 6

A bark came from outside of the room and John snapped awake. He didn’t know when he had fallen asleep. He looked around the room, he was shocked to see his partner up and sitting on the edge of the bed.

His breathing was ragged and his gray cotton t-shirt was soaked in sweat. Not only that, his face was covered in a sheen of sweat and it was dripping down his face.

“Harold?” John asked fearfully.

“Where’s Nathan?” Harold answered, the pain in his wavering voice made John’s heart constrict.

“Harold… it’s me… John,” he replied, cautiously making his way over to his partner. “You’re sick…”

“Nathan… I told you we shouldn’t have gone out drinking…” Harold stood awkwardly and went to take a step but he stumbled and fell to the floor after the whole room went spinning. His vision clouded and he became extremely lightheaded as he lay sprawled on the floor.

“Harold!” John jumped up and went to his partner nervously. “Hey… easy…” He pushed the sweaty matted hair back away from Harold’s forehead.

“John?” Harold’s glassy eyes seemed to look straight through him. “Why are we on the floor?”

John sighed, “You fell… You’re sick, Harold… Come on let’s get you back up in bed…” John gently supported him under his arms and helped to lift him back up and into the hospital bed.

Megan came in through the door, “What happened?” she asked anxiously. “I heard a loud noise…” She helped John get Harold situated.

“I woke up and he was sitting on the side of the bed… clearly confused and he tried to stand up but fell over.” John ran his hand over his face and through his hair, concerned and exhausted.

“Okay…” She grabbed a thermometer and put it into Harold’s ear. “Harold?” She put her hand on his forehead, “Harold, open your eyes for me.”

Harold grumbled and groaned until he forced his eyes open as much as he could.

“There you go. Now tell me what happened?” She checked the reading on the thermometer and grimaced.

“Dizzy… room was… spinning.” Harold took in a deep breath. His whole metabolism was racing and he couldn’t seem to calm it down.

“Does anything hurt?” she asked as she went over to the sink and washed her hands.

“My chest… but… it’s better… than earlier.” He was shivering now.

“Okay… I’m going to give you a little something for the pain… but I need you to bear with me for a little so I can look you over, okay?”

Harold nodded, his eyes slid shut and he started to apply his own well-practiced method of pain management.

In the days following the ferry bombing and the surgery after surgeries… he had to learn how to deal with the almost constant never-ending pain on his own. He was reciting the digits of pi to himself, visualizing the string of numbers in order in his mind.

He had nearly fallen asleep when an intolerable amount of pressure was placed on the side of his chest.

Without even realizing, he shouted a number out loud.

“Harold?” Megan asked, “I’m assuming that hurt?”

Harold breathlessly nodded his head.

John squeezed his hand, letting the older man know he was still there.

“Sorry about that,” she frowned. “Okay, I’m going to give you something now, Harold. It should help, sound good?”

“Okay…” Harold’s eyes slipped shut again. His breathing was labored and almost ragged. The sheen of sweat on his face made his skin look a deathly white.

Megan went over to a cabinet and grabbed a vial and measured an amount off into a syringe. She came back over and held out Harold’s arm to reveal the IV catheter.

John hadn’t even noticed Bear had appeared out of nowhere, his snout nudged into Harold’s hand.

Harold was absently petting the dog between the ears.

“How you doing, Harold?” Megan asked as she emptied the contents of the syringe into the IV line.

“Just having a bad night…” the sick man murmured.

“This should make it a little better…” she smiled and put her hand to his forehead.

John came over and stood next to her, “Any idea of what’s wrong?”

She watched as the drugs made their way into Harold’s system and his body relaxed and his hand went still on Bear’s head.

The dog whined and looked up to John. “Don’t worry boy, he’s just sleeping…” John reassured the dog.

Megan turned around and signaled for John to follow her over to the other side of the room. “His symptoms are indicating an abscess. It’s probably caused by irritation from internal stitches. I didn’t feel anything… but with the way he acted after I touched the side of his chest… I’d say it’s probably there, which means it may be too small or too deep to detect topically.”

She put her hand on John’s shoulder, “I’m going to start him on a stronger anti-biotic, hopefully, it’ll take care of it enough that his body’s immune system can take care of the rest.”

John let out a breath, “What was his temperature?”

“101.4… Not terrible, but not good.”

“Do you think the antibiotic will work?”

“I don’t know…”

“What aren’t you telling me, Megan?” John asked, his brow raised.

“I don’t want you to worry…”

“I’d rather not be blindsided.”

“Well, earlier when I asked him about the pain, he said it wasn’t as bad as before. With abscesses, that’s not a good sign. It’s usually a sign that it’s ruptured and if it’s ruptured… I may not be able to tell before it’s too late…”

John sighed and went over and sat next to Bear and his partner. He leaned down and rubbed the dog between the ears, “He’ll be okay, boy. He’s a tough son of a gun.”


	7. Chapter 7

_This isn’t good…_ Megan thought to herself as she drew back the plunger on the syringe. A greenish-yellow fluid streaked with traces of blood filled the reservoir.

Exactly what she didn’t want to see, seemed to have happened. Harold had developed an abscess that had ruptured and now the infection was flooding through his bloodstream.

She felt Harold tense as she withdrew the needle. “Sorry, Harold…” she uttered, not sure if she was saying it for the pain or for the fact that she hadn’t caught this sooner.

 _I should have forced him to go to the hospital…_ she thought.

Earlier, she’d found that the side of his chest was unusually firm when she’d checked him over again. Less than an hour later, his fever spiked and the signs of shock had started to show.

Despite the potent antibiotics… the infection was starting to take over.

Megan pulled the blankets back up over her patient and put up the bed railings. She unplugged the non-essential equipment and hung his IV bag on the side of the bed.

“Time to go for a little ride, Harold.” She got behind the bed and started to wheel it out and towards the operating room.

The fact that the older man didn’t even acknowledge her statement made her even more worried.

She locked the wheels on the hospital bed and went over to the cupboards. She was sifting through surgical supplies when she heard John coming down the hallway.

He was on the phone with Shaw and Root who were working a number. Harold had insisted they go before he fell unconscious again.

“I will not allow you to… sit here and… fuss over me when lives… are at risk.” Harold had told them.

John came into the operating room, “What’s going on?” His eyes went wide at the sight.

“The infection’s taking over. I need to get in there and try to stop it before he gets septic.” She set down an armful of supplies onto a tray and went back to get more.

“Shaw… she’s not going to be able to get here to help in time…” John murmured absently.

“That’s okay. You’ve seen your fair share of blood. You can help.” She set down a few more items. Two of which John recognized as a defibrillator and an Ambu-bag. “Relax. I don’t foresee needing either of these. But I want to be prepared just in case.” 

John glanced at Harold. He’d been out of the room for all of twenty minutes but his partner had seemed to appear worse in just that little time. He looked exhausted, hurting, and on the edge of checking out… permanently. “What happened?”

“The abscess ruptured. I just took out a quarter cup of fluid and blood from his side,” Megan explained, drawing medication from a few vials into syringes. “Anti-biotics aren’t going to work. I need to get this stuff out of him. Now.”

“What do I need to do?”

“I’m going to need another set of hands until Sameen gets here. Scrub up and glove up, we can’t afford to waste any more time.”

John walked over to the sink and washed his hands. He snapped a pair of gloves on and stood and watched as Megan injected the syringes into Harold’s IV line.

Whatever she’d given him, it worked fast. Harold’s breathing had slowed down and the pain lines had gradually disappeared from his face. “Is he okay?” John asked.

“He’s asleep. Not as deep as I’d like, but any more and we risk depressing his breathing too much. I don’t want to have to put him on the vent again because he may not be able to come off it…”

“Oh…”

Megan went over to sit down next to her patient and rubbed iodine over his skin, “Come on. I’m going to ask you for a whole bunch of medical equipment, so be ready; if you have questions and don’t know something, just ask. But we need to be quick.”

John nodded his head as he sat down next to the doctor.

“Ready?” Megan asked.

John nodded his head again, his eyes focused on Harold.

Wearing gloves and a white surgical mask, Megan rolled the tray of tools over to her with her foot. “Let’s give this a go then.”

#

It was about halfway through the surgery when the suction unit that Megan was using made a stuttering, sucking noise.

“What was that?” John asked, looking down where the doctor was working.

“I’m not sure. It sounds like something’s stuck in there.” She picked up the narrow tube from inside her patient and found a small piece of debris lodged in it.

“What’s that?” John asked, sounding like a broken record.

“I don’t know…” Megan got up and took it over to the sink. She rinsed it off and looked at it more carefully. “Oh my God…” She sighed and her eyes closed, “It’s a piece of bone… we must have missed it in the first surgery…” She came back over and sat down, showing John the tiny piece of white bone.

“That’s been in there the whole time?”

“Yes… and it’s been the cause of his pain…”

John could tell that Megan was feeling guilty. She thought this was her fault.

“There was nothing you could have done. He wouldn’t agree to get an MRI.” John set the bone fragment down onto the tray of supplies.

“I should have seen it…” She sat back down and started to work again. “It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s not. It’s no one’s fault. The only thing you can control now is fixing him.”

She just shook her head. Her mind was racing. Double checking things. Triple checking. She was not going to miss anything this time.

“I’ve pretty much cleaned out the infection… now I just need to flush everything with antiseptic and put in a chest tube.” She put down the suction tube. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” John replied, his eyes flickered up to his partner who was still pale and perspiring.

“Good.” She looked up at the screen at Harold’s vitals, “He’s stable. Let’s hope he stays that way.” Megan reached for the antibacterial solution and got back to work.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Finch!whump.
> 
> You've been warned hah.

The sound of the heart monitor and the hiss of oxygen lulled John into a light sleep.

He was back to his chair, one that he had absolutely hated at this point and he would throw out when all of this was done because it would undoubtedly bring up bad memories.

Bear’s head shot up and he whined and looked over to Harold who was lying in the bed.

John sat up, “Harold?” he asked quietly. “Are you alright?”

Harold’s discomfort was evident in the low light. He was sweating heavily still and a constant tremor shook his body. A three-way war between the infection, antibiotic and his immune system was underway and there was no way telling which one was in the lead.

He was a wreck. Despite the drugs and efforts to bring down his fever, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep him comfortable.

John took the thermometer from beside the bed and pressed it into the sick man’s ear. Once the machine beeped, he pulled it out and frowned at the number on the screen.

He set it back down and grabbed the cold cloth from the dish beside the bed and placed it against his partner’s forehead.

He felt Harold try to shrink away from it. “Easy, Finch.”

“Cold,” he rasped, his voice barely audible.

“I don’t see how someone with a 104-degree fever can be cold…” John replied, his hand running through Harold’s sweaty hair.

Harold’s eyes flickered open, although groggy, he still managed to look annoyed at his partner.

“There’s my Finch,” John chuckled. “I know you feel like crap, but we need to keep you cooled off somewhat.” He blotted the cool cloth against Harold’s neck. “If it wasn’t for your incision, we would have tossed you in a bucket of ice by now.”

Even though Harold knew the coldness was coming, he couldn’t help flinching at every time the cloth touched him. He hated being fussed over and this fever was making him even more prickly than usual.

“John. You don’t have to stay.”

“I know. But I want to.”

“But if another number…”

“Shaw and Root just finished the last one. The machine has been silent since. Seems like it knows admin’s in trouble.” John pressed the cloth to his partner’s forehead again.

He tried to move away from the cool cloth but a wave of pain tore across his side. He clamped his eyes shut, trying to ride out the wave of pain.

John went over to the cabinet where all the medication was and selected a syringe that Megan had already shown him to use for whenever Harold needed it. He came back over and emptied its contents into the sick man’s IV line. “Easy Finch…”

“It’s not supposed to… do that…” Harold huffed.

John’s brow rose, not sure what Harold meant.

Then it hit him that he was talking about the machine. “It looks like it’s expanded beyond your original program, Harold. In a good way.” He looked down to see that the older man had dozed off, the medication doing its job for now.

Megan came back into the room from trying to get a few hours of sleep, knowing they’d likely be up all night with Harold. “How’s he doing?”

“Okay…” John sat back down, “but the fever still hasn’t broken.”

Moving the blankets aside, Megan checked Harold’s incision and the chest tube. “It’s draining quite well and no further signs of infection.”

She thought for a moment, then she looked up to John. “Does this place have an ice machine?”

“I think so… why?”

She headed for the kitchen, “We can set bags of ice down next to him, try to get his body temp down.”

John stood up and followed her out to the kitchen.

“We fill up big ziplock bags and put them in the bed with him under blankets. We’ll just have to keep changing them.” Megan went over to the fridge and turned the ice machine onto the quick ice setting.

“Whatever you think will work.” John threw his hands in the air in concern and frustration and went over to help fill some bags.

#

Megan had just finished tucking Harold back in from checking the ice and his bandage again when the door cracked open.

Expecting to see Sameen and Root coming back from their mission, it was John.

“I thought I told you to get some sleep?” She tucked the blanket back around her patient.

“Can’t sleep. And if something unpredictable happens… I want to…” _Be able to say goodbye._ How easily the words could be thought but stuck in his throat when he tried to speak them.

“He’s stable John,” Megan checked his temperature, “And his fever has come down a little. Don’t start planning your goodbyes just yet.

“Sameen and Root are bringing back more ice so we don’t have to wait for the machine to make more. I’m going to go help them bring it in. Think you’ll be okay in here with him?”

“Yeah,” John replied and went over to get the cool cloth from the bowl. He rang it out and pressed it against Harold’s forehead.

“I’ll be right back,” Megan stated with a smile at the gentleness of John’s touch.

Harold flinched away from the touch again, “Sorry…” John started. Saying it both for the coldness he was inflicting on his partner and the fact that he felt that it was his fault Harold was in this mess in the first place.

“Not your fault, John…” Harold murmured in his groggy state. John thought he was just talking about the coldness from the cloth until he continued. “I… knew what I was… doing.”

John had to smirk. Was it really to the point where Harold could read him this easily? Fevered and on so many drugs that John had lost count.

John didn’t reply, he just set the cloth down and pressed a soft kiss to Harold’s forehead. The warmness of his skin on his lips caught John off guard.

He frowned and sat back down. Both hoping and praying the Harold had enough fight left in him to pull through.

#

John was in the middle of reading the police report that Lionel had brought over from their most recent number when he heard a small groan coming from the bed.

Looking up, he saw Harold attempting to push the blankets off himself and feebly trying to sit up. “Harold?”

His attempts didn’t stop as John approached him and he was quickly becoming agitated. “Come on Harold, calm down. What’s wrong?” John tried to put a comforting hand on his partner’s back and brought it away wet with sweat.

His breathing was short and labored and after realizing Harold wasn’t going to stop from trying to move around, John tried to help him sit up and untangle him from the various monitoring wires and IV lines.

After he was mostly sitting up on his own, John looked at him again, “Better?”

“I can’t tell…” Harold’s voice came out as a breathy gasp.

“Can’t tell what?”

“What’s real…” He rubbed his hands over his eyes, visibly struggling with whatever feverish nightmare had woken him up and had him questioning reality.

“I’m real,” John replied. He held out his hand for Harold to take. The smaller man regarded it uncertainly, but then reached out his own hand and closed it around John’s. The heat that radiated from Harold’s body made John grimace sympathetically. He was burning up and streams of sweat dripped down his face to soak into his clothing.

Harold pulled his hand away and grabbed the edge of the bed. Even sitting down, he was unsteady. The bed and floor seemed to pitch and sway. He wanted to lay down… but he was experiencing vertigo and didn’t trust himself to know which way to lean.

He thought that John was sitting next to him, but through the haze of his fever John’s presence seemed almost surreal and had him questioning whether he was really there or not.

John knew his partner was struggling, Harold needed the doctor but he didn’t want to leave him alone. Breathing hard, trembling and blotchy from the fever, he seemed to barely recognize John was even there and his condition frightened him.

John grabbed the cool cloth from the dish and pressed it against Harold’s forehead wiping the sweat from his brow and attempting to cool him down and get him to relax. This time instead of shying away from the touch, Harold leaned into it.

“Remember the night Snow got to me?” John asked, trying to distract him enough so he could relax. “I knew it was going to happen eventually. I mean they are the Central Intelligence Agency.” He paused when he thought he felt Harold huff a small laugh. “I was mad that you came for me at first…” John continued, “I wasn’t worth risking the whole operation for.”

“I abhor… wasting… talent…” Harold murmured. He was leaning heavily against John now, his face pressed against his chest.

John smirked, “I knew you were special that night. I knew you cared. Because out of all the times in the army or special forces… I’d never had anyone come for me before…”

A faint smile came to Harold’s lips. He seemed to have calmed down some but still wasn’t acting quite himself.

A violent tremor wracked Harold’s small frame so hard that John heard his teeth clatter together. “Hey… easy…” John’s hand moved up and down Harold’s back gently.

Harold’s breathing abruptly hitched in his chest a couple of times before settling into a quick, harsh rhythm and then suddenly went completely silent. He sagged against John heavily, losing the small grip he had on consciousness.

“Harold?” John asked, alarmed. “Harold… please wake up…”

When the smaller man didn’t respond, John’s hand immediately went to Harold’s neck. He frantically felt for a pulse and found one, but it was barely there.

He suddenly heard Bear start to bark.

He heard footsteps and then Shaw and Megan emerged into the room. “What happened?”

“Is he okay?”

“I… I don’t know…” John stammered. “I wanted to go get you but… I didn’t want to leave him alone…”

“You did the right thing, John.” Megan kneeled and looked Harold over. “Sameen, can you help me?”

Between the two of them, they got Harold shifted away from John and laying back down.

“He’s burning up,” Shaw started.

“His fever spiked again.” Megan looked at the thermometer and grimaced in shock at the near 105-degree temperature. “We need more ice immediately.”

“I’ll go,” Shaw was already out of the room before she got the last word out.

A rapid, arrhythmic beeping filled the room. “What’s going on?” John said, his voice threatening to break.

“He seems to be in septic shock,” Megan replied, moving over to the medicine cabinets.

“What?”

“His blood pressure is tanking. The infection is starting to affect his heart.”

John felt his own blood pressure start to rise, “I thought the surgery and antibiotics were supposed to knock that out of him.”

“That’s what I’d hoped.” Megan came back over and injected the drugs into the sick man’s IV. “But when the abscess ruptured, it flooded his system with toxins. We may have stopped the infection at its source, but it must have already had the chance to spread. There’s still a chance the antibiotics will work. We just have to help Harold hang on that long.” She watched the monitors for any improvement as the drugs made their way through Harold’s system. The slight improvement in his blood pressure was a good sign.

“John…” Harold’s eyes flickered open and his breath hitched.

“I’m here, Harold.” John went to his partner.

“I’m hot…”

“I know… we’re trying to cool you down…” John grabbed Harold’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze and ran his other hand through Harold's sweat-drenched hair. The older man leaned into the touch.

Sameen came back in with a few more bags of ice. “Root’s got the ice maker on high.”

The two women set to placing the new bags of ice around the extremely sick man.

Megan checked his temperature and was happy to see it had already dropped a few tenths of a degree.

“Good… this is a good start. This is what we want to see.” She put the thermometer down and turned to Shaw and John. She motioned for them to follow her out into the hall. Harold looked like he was unconscious, but she didn’t want him to hear her if he wasn’t.

“As you both undoubtedly already know, the prognosis for septic shock generally isn’t good.”

Shaw’s face was blank except for the hard line of her mouth as she knew exactly how dire a situation that Harold was experiencing and now he had to fight to live through.

John wasn’t as knowledgeable so Megan continued for his education.

“Toxins build up, organs start to fail, and then it’s only a matter of time...” No matter how long she was in medicine this part never got easier. “I’m not going to sugar coat this John. I’m going to do what I can to keep him going but it’s going to be hit or miss.

“As long as we can keep his BP in check and his temperature in control until the medicine has had time to do its job, he’ll have a good chance. If he slips downward too much further, I’ll have to put him back on life support but...”

“No.”

Both shocked and startled by the sudden outburst from John, Megan’s brow furrowed, “What?”

“If his condition fails irreparably…” John’s voice broke, “We need to let him go.”

“What?” Sameen’s eyes widened. “John…”

“I’m not letting him suffer anymore like this…” John frowned, “It’s his choice, Shaw. He and I have been over this and we both feel the same way.” John spoke of the time that he and Harold had both decided to give each other their power of attorney.

“But he’s still fairly conscious and coherent…” Shaw argued.

“If his BP keeps dropping, he won’t be for long… there won’t be much more I can do except relieve his pain.” Megan looked at her patient through the doorframe.

“So, it’s decided.” John looked at Megan. “If he wants to keep fighting, we’ll help him do that. But if he starts to get worse and there’s no more that can be done, he’ll want it to be over… I don’t want him on a ventilator only to keep him alive when there’s no hope for him anyway.  Most importantly… Harold wouldn’t want it either.”

The three of them made their way back into their terribly sick friend’s room. He was clearly sleeping; the pain lines had disappeared from his face and his breathing had slowed down to a level of easy sleep.

John sat down next to his partner, placing his hand over Harold’s heart. “Don’t you dare give up, Harold… please don’t do that to me.”

#

“How’s he doing?” Shaw came in with a cup of coffee in her hand. She walked over and handed it to John.

He sat up in his chair and accepted the beverage. “Megan said his temperature went down some. His blood pressure is staying steady too.”

“Good.” She went to leave the room but John spoke up.

“Do you think I made the right call?”

She turned around and looked at him, then to Harold.

“I think…” she paused, “I think that he’s suffered enough in his life and that he doesn’t deserve to have suffer anymore.” She started to walk away again, “You made the right call, John.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. Thanks for going along for the ride. I hope you enjoyed it!

A loud clatter was what made Harold startle awake suddenly. It made his entire body jump involuntarily and pain stabbed in his side.

“Ouch, damn it.” His eyes squeezed shut and his hand flew to his side.

“Harold?” There was a sound of hurried footsteps across the floor. “Harold are you okay? Do you need the doctor? Sorry about dropping my phone… Let me go get Megan…”

“I’m… fine John. Calm down.” He gasped trying to catch his breath.

The ex-op stopped and went to his side and looked at his friend, not quite believing what he was seeing. The color had begun to return to Harold’s face and the fog from the fever and infection that filled his eyes just two days earlier had seemed to have diminished a great deal and he seemed much more alert and back to his self. Well, more like himself than he did a few days ago anyway.

“But… you’re not in pain?” John asked, his eyes narrowing.

“A little…” He looked at John with a smile, “You look like hell, John.”

“I could say the same about you, Harold,” John chuckled and went over to sit next to his partner. He offered him a glass of water with a straw. “I thought I was going to lose you, Harold.” John didn’t waste any time. “I had to decide…”

“Decide?” Harold asked, handing the cup of water back over to the younger man.

“You were getting worse, fast.” John set the glass of water onto the bedside table. “Your chances were so slim… Megan was going to put you back on life support if you got any worse but I didn’t think you would have wanted that…”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t have.” Harold tried to think of something else to say. To comfort John in some way because the man was obviously having trouble with just the idea of it, but his mind was still hazy so all he could think of was, “I’m happy to see that our agreement would have been upheld and I thank you for that John.”

John huffed. His partner’s response was so simple and to the point, it could have only come from him. It let him know that he had, in fact, done the right thing.

The door opened to admit Megan, Root, and Shaw. “We thought we heard two voices.” Their expressions visibly brightened.

“He woke up a few minutes ago,” John smiled.

“That’s terrific,” Megan replied. “How do you feel?”

“Tired. Sore.”

“That’s going to be normal for the next few days. You’ve been through the wringer. We’ve been trying to stabilize your blood pressure and temperature for the past two days. We thought we were going to lose you.”

“That’s what I heard…”

“It was yesterday afternoon when we noticed that your BP stabilized, your heart rhythm corrected itself and your fever broke early this morning and has been falling ever since.”

“Thank you, Doctor Tillman. For everything.”

A flicker of emotion crossed the doctor’s face, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. “You’re very lucky, Harold. The chances for fatality after you’ve gone septic are close to sixty percent.”

“Oh.” Harold was quickly losing interest in the small talk.

“I know you’re pretty tired right now, but I’d like to give you a once over before I let you get some more rest, okay?”

Harold nodded his head and let the doctor do the rest of her checks.

“Your temp is still elevated, but you certainly don’t need these anymore.” She picked up the remaining bags of ice and tossed them to the side. “Hopefully the fever will be completely gone tonight.”

She lifted up Harold’s shirt to check his incision. “Looks good here,” she removed the bandage. “Any pain here?”

“Not really.”

“Good.” She re-bandaged the incision and pulled his shirt back down. “All right everything looks to be in order here. Looks like you’re officially on the mend, Harold.”

The older man smiled and thanked the doctor again.

Shaw came over to him and smiled, “Glad you’re healing, Finch. But if you ever scare us like that again, I’ll kick your ass.”

“I’ll do my best, Miss Shaw,” Harold chuckled.

Root was beside Shaw and leaned down to press a kiss to Harold’s forehead, “Glad to have you back, Harry.”

“Good to be back, Miss Groves.” Harold shifted a bit in bed and looked at the others. “What time is it?”

“About noon,” Megan replied, glancing at her watch.

“Perfect,” Harold hummed.

“Why?” John couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’ve been in a fevered coma for two days and you’re worried about what time it is?”

“Of course. It’s lunchtime.” Harold grinned, “I’m starving.”

John smiled and looked at the others who all had smiles on their face too. Harold might just be alright after all.

#

Harold was laying on the padded bench outside the safehouse, reading a book. It was a place he hadn’t ventured far from these past couple of days.

His recovery was coming along well. Albeit slower than he would have liked.

The amount of infection that flooded his body left its mark. His brain felt like it was mush for the first few days, and he was exhausted after just the simplest of tasks.

But now, two weeks later, things seemed to be on the up and up and he was progressing well.

He looked up when he heard John come out of the house with Megan.

“… and remember I’m only a phone call away.” She continued. Harold figured they had been talking about how the rest of his recovery should go.

“Okay,” John replied.

Harold gingerly stood up and made his way over to the doctor and his partner, “Doctor Tillman,” he smiled. “Thank you for everything. It is greatly appreciated.”

“Don’t mention it, Harold. I was just helping out a friend.” She held her arms out and brought Harold into a gentle hug. “Promise me you’ll take it easy for at least another three weeks. You still need to gain your strength back and give your ribs and sternum a little more time to heal, okay?”

Harold smirked, “You have my word.”

Megan turned and looked at John, “Don’t think you’re getting out of a hug.”

John chuckled and gave the doctor a hug, whispering his thanks into her ear.

“Well, alrighty then. Time to hit the road.” She nodded to the two men and headed out to her car.

With a final wave, she put the car in drive and headed back to the city.

As the men watched the car disappear down the road, John put his hand around Harold’s back, “Think you’re up for a walk? I’m getting restless and I think Bear is too.”

Harold hummed and leaned further into John’s hold. “I think a walk would be lovely.”

John headed into the house to get Bear and his leash. Harold sat back down on the bench and marked the spot in his book where he had left off.

He enjoyed the early afternoon sunshine on his face and the smell of the freshly cut grass. It was a smell that he would certainly miss when they eventually made their journey back to the city.

John returned with Bear in tow, “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Harold smiled and headed down the porch steps with his partner. Soon, they would be back in the chaos of the city and their mission. Chasing perpetrators and victims through New York.

But now… now he could enjoy a nice afternoon walk with John and Bear, not a care in the world.


End file.
